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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847679">Think I need a devil to help me get things right</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDandyRascal/pseuds/TheDandyRascal'>TheDandyRascal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>SWTOR oneshots: early game [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Shadow of Revan Spoilers, enemies to reluctant colleagues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDandyRascal/pseuds/TheDandyRascal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting fired for digging too deep into the Revanite conspiracy, Theron Shan isn't ready to give up the fight but he's run out of favours from his side of the galaxy.</p>
<p>Which means he's got to ask for help from a very aggravating rival.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>SWTOR oneshots: early game [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Think I need a devil to help me get things right</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Imperial Agent, Alton Huxley. He goes by the code-name 'Shrike' since using the Black Codex to disappear from official records. This is set shortly after the mission on Maanan but before the operation on Rishi.</p>
<p>Inspired by the song "Learn to Fly" by the Foo Fights, this was written back in 2016.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Port Nowhere</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been to a lot of pretty awful places in his life but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rusty Screw</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the lower decks of Port Nowhere is high on the list of ‘never go back again’ cantinas. Theron Shan pauses at the threshold for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting and to decide if he really wants to go through with this meeting. It’s a crazy idea. Utterly, totally crazy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But thanks to his rather dire circumstances... it’s also his only option right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hunching further into the high collar of his jacket, Theron jams his hands in his pockets and heads into the dingy establishment. Thankfully there aren’t many people loitering around the cantina this late into the station’s sleep cycle. He spots a handful of patrons either slumped against the long bar or draped over a table, all of them too absorbed in their own grim lives to pay him much notice as he slips towards an empty booth near the back of the room. A tired looking Cathar waitress gives him a sour side-eye when he sits down instead of ordering at the bar and she shuffles slowly towards him like a recalcitrant child. She mutters a halfhearted greeting at him, grunts in response to his order for whatever ale they serve in a sealed bottle, then wanders off without a backwards glance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Theron tries not to think about why the tabletop is so sticky beneath his sleeves.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Adopting a casual slouch into the corner of the cracked synth leather booth, Theron angles himself so he can clock every door then activates his cranial implant to bring up a chrono display to check the time. He forces himself not to fidget with impatience; arriving early for a meeting is habitual and usually doesn’t make him feel restless. Under normal circumstances he’d take advantage of a little spare time to scope out the environment or catch up on any feeds and alerts he’d forwarded to his HUD, maybe go over last minute details before his contact arrives, or at the very least try to deal with his never-ending queue of paperwork. There’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>paperwork to do, something they don’t tell you in spy school. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, he doesn’t really have much paperwork these days. Mostly because he doesn’t really have much of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>job</span>
  </em>
  <span> these days. If he was a smart man he’d lay low and cool his heels for a few months -- maybe a year -- then slink back into the Director’s good graces. But he’s not always a smart man. Besides, it’s not like the work isn’t still there. He’s up to his karking neck in work to do. He’s just not currently getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>paid</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do it. Drumming his fingers against the tabletop, Theron forces himself to stop thinking about how bad everything has gotten and focuses on intently watching the door instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Theron doesn’t have to wait long -- maybe quarter of an hour -- before a tall, lean man walks into the cantina like he owns the place. He looks like every other degenerate spacer walking the durasteel decks of Port Nowhere: worn clothes, a battered jacket, a well-used blaster holstered at his hip, and an attitude a parsec wide. A scruffy beard and carelessly messy hair change his appearance enough that Theron runs a quick scan to verify the man’s identity before he lifts a hand to catch his attention. While the disguise is decent, it can’t hide the fact he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> an Imp because of the way he walks. Such arrogance in his stride. Like he already knows everything about everyone in the room and none of them bother a second glance. Like nobody else is worth his time. Kriff, what an asshole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve only met in-person once before but they’ve been circling each other professionally for years. Oh, Theron is well aware that he’s an agent, even if no one’s said it out loud yet. It’s blatantly obvious to him because like recognizes like.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Working with him on Maanan had been… interesting. Lana Beniko brought the Imp in to help retrieve vital data they needed to make their case against the Revanite insurgence. Theron argued against it -- mostly out of principle -- but she’d overruled him in the end. Probably for the best, as hard as it was for him to admit. He’d been an effective asset, if not incredibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>obnoxious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was like his entire personality was constructed entirely from traits designed to get under Theron’s skin. No surprise the two of them had bickered </span>
  <em>
    <span>constantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> until Lana would break it up with her stern ‘no nonsense’ looks and a hand resting on the pommel of her lightsaber. The woman might be a Sith -- and technically his enemy -- but she’s proven herself more than enough to earn Theron’s trust. The worst briefing sessions usually ended with at least one of them getting sent out of the room to cool off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And the fact that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs this guy’s help is eating him up inside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once the Imp gets closer, Theron nods brusquely in greeting and drops his boots off the opposite bench to let him sit down. “Wasn’t sure if you’d show, Shrike.” He can’t help the edge of challenge in his tone, not with his nerves riding him so hard right now. “Thought Port Nowhere might be too rowdy for your delicate sensibilities, I was surprised you agreed to it. Nice beard, by the way. You look like a drifter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other man lets out a snort of derision and rolls his eyes as he sits. “And miss the chance to experience your delightful company again? How could I possibly resist?” He adopts a half-slouch with one elbow propped up on the bench top that makes him look relaxed but Theron spots the slight bulge of a hidden weapon tucked into the folds of the dusty brown scarf draped around his neck just inches from his fingertips. If Theron didn’t already know he was an Imp, the self-important drawl of the other man’s voice would’ve given him away immediately. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two men stare at each other for a few moments before Shrike raises a ginger eyebrow in question. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a terrible disguise, picking ginger hair</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Theron can’t help but think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hasn’t he ever heard of nondescript?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shrike’s hair had been much darker on Maanan and he’d been meticulously clean-shaven; right now he looks positively rough and tumble.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Surely I didn’t come all this way just to stare at you, Agent Shan?” he murmurs in his annoying Academy drawl, tilting his head just enough to be annoying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Casting him a dark look, Theron leans back in his seat and combs his fingers through his hair in an agitated gesture. “I’m getting to it.” He turns away for a moment and stares at a vid screen broadcasting a grainy feed of a huttball game. His jaw clenches tightly as he swallows his pride. “I need your help.” Out of the corner of his eye Theron can see an irritating smile moving across the other man’s face and already knows he’s going to sound smug when he opens his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh reeeeaaally?” He draws the word out and moves to lean one elbow on the table so he can stroke his fingers over his bearded chin. “What could the golden boy of the SIS </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> need from little old me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Already feeling raw, Theron’s temper flares at the casual insolence in Shrike’s tone. His head whips back and he leans across the table, dropping his own voice to a low threatening hiss. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? That nothing can touch you? Well I know who you really are, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Agent </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alton Sebastian Huxley aka Cipher Nine, formerly of the Imperial Intelligence Agency. You might have scrubbed yourself from the Holonet somehow, but I’ve been keeping tabs on you for years.” He taps his forehead near his cranial implants. “Like recognizes like, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The smug expression drops off the other man’s face immediately. The casual arrogance is gone, replaced by a sharp and dangerous look. Theron’s heart trips once in his chest and he forces his hands flat against the table to keep himself from reaching for his blaster or the vibroblade strapped to his forearm. Pulling a weapon might make him feel better in the moment but it would definitely start a brawl that he’s not sure can win right now. There isn’t anyone in this cantina -- on this space station -- who will back him up in a fight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shrike plants his own hands on the tabletop and his expression is surprisingly menacing beneath the ridiculous red beard. His voice drops to a low, vicious whisper as he looms closer. “Is that data stored in SIS databanks? Tell me immediately.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Squaring his shoulders to regain a little composure, Theron mulls over an answer. When Shrike’s flinty eyes begin to narrow, he reluctantly responds. “No.” The admission feels sour in his mouth, like he just had to play his only trump card. “Just my personal storage.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shrike’s gaze flickers up to the smooth metal cybertech implant above Theron’s left eye, causing him to bristle. “Don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it, asshole!” Theron hisses. “If I die, everything goes public. You think I’m stupid? That I don’t have fail safes in place?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The redhead responds with a cruel sneer. “I suppose it should be moderately reassuring that you people have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>mediocrely</span>
  </em>
  <span> trained in basic self-preservation tactics.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mediocre?” Theron’s voice raises a little, then he swallows his anger to drop the volume again. They’re spies, for Maker’s sake. Surely a clandestine argument could remain at a quiet hiss. “Oh please! I know you were involved with that Eradicator disaster. What a clusterfuck! I thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Imperial Intelligence</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Theron mimics Shrike’s accent for emphasis. “Would have caught onto that a lot sooner considering it involved a prominent member of the Dark Council. Sloppy work, pal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now furious, Shrike leans even further into Theron’s personal space and bares his teeth. “Oh you think your precious SIS is so amazing? I bet you don’t even know half the bullshit your hero spymaster Ardun Kothe was pulling as an ‘independent agent’.” Shrike makes sarcastic air quotes. “Because I sure do, and a lot of them are considered war crimes under the Treaty of Coruscant!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They argue for nearly an hour, hurling barbs and slinging mud in an exponential crescendo of breached protocols bordering on treason. Spies from opposing factions fighting like children. Two highly decorated agents reduced to a pissing contest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Theron drops truth bombs about Darth Baras’ attempted coup of the Dark Council, the horrifying brutality of the Watcher program, and Shrike’s recent counter-intelligence operation at the droid factories on Geonosis. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shrike retaliates with intimate knowledge of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>highly</span>
  </em>
  <span> classified defection of Havoc Squad, the prison riots on Belsavis, and the presence of SIS influence at the droid factories on Geonosis which prompted his operation in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their argument is finally interrupted by the surly Cathar waitress from earlier, who delivers the drink Theron ordered when he arrived </span>
  <em>
    <span>two hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago. She plonks the sweating bottle down onto the table between them which causes both men to push themselves back like they’ve been scalded. Theron thanks her stiffly as she walks away with disinterest. Tapping an irritated staccato rhythm against the tabletop, Shrike glares daggers at Theron, who glares right back at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we done now? Spilling state secrets in a pitiful attempt to prove who’s the better spy?” he says stiffly, the muscles in his shoulders twitching with the desire to punch the obnoxious asshole right in his smug mouth. A shame that would be just as bad as drawing a weapon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shrike grunts inelegantly and tilts his head back enough to stare down the length of his patrician nose. “Fine.” His tone is superior, like he’s the bigger man for agreeing to stop their argument. It rankles Theron but he doesn’t take the bait. Again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” He grits out between clenched teeth and draws in a deep breath through his flaring nostrils to calm himself. “Because I’m done fighting with you, okay? This thing,” exhaustion washes over him as he remembers the weight of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he needs the other man’s help. “What we uncovered on Maanan is bigger than both of us and you know it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mask of indignant anger drops from Shrike’s face and he looks just as tired as Theron feels. He lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment, then scrubs his fingers against his beard before dropping his hand back to the table. “Yes. You’re not… wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Theron gives him a flat look but ignores the attitude. “Look, I know that I’m at the disadvantage here, okay? You’ve got a crew at your disposal, but I’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> at my back right now. You think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be asking you for help? Of course I don’t. And neither would you if the situation were reversed. So just...” he sighs and closes his eyes briefly. “Lay off a bit, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A few moments of silence stretches between them before Shrike answers. “Of course.” His response is stiff, formal; a far cry from his earlier obnoxious antagonism. “Please proceed.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aware of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> tenuous truce between them Theron telegraphs his movements as he draws a datapad from his inner jacket pocket. “So even though I’m a little light on resources these days, here’s what I’ve put together since Maanan.” He thumbs the device on and slides it across the table. Shrike’s long fingers close around it as he bends closer to study the datapad without comment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence while Shrike pours over the information. Theron turns so he’s sitting sideways in the booth with his back against the wall and his left leg up onto the seat. The position lets him watch the other man from the corner of his eye while he occupies his hands by peeling the label off the warm bottle of ale he never plans on drinking. Now that they aren’t hissing and spitting at each other he understands why Lana had pulled the renegade Cipher Agent into their secret battle. The man has a laser sharp focus and keen intelligence is apparent on his face as he takes in the information on the datapad. And Theron already knows what he’s capable of, not just from the Maanan operation. He hadn’t been lying  earlier when he’d confessed to following the other man’s career for years. Based on the dossie he’s managed to piece together it seems the worse the odds, the more likely Huxley is to succeed. Theron’s also aware that SIS had flirted with the idea of trying to turn him to the Republic, but the conversion rate for that type of operation is incredibly low with covert agents. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite their differences in… political loyalties, there are some glaring similarities between them. And not all of them are positive things either. Theron had learned long ago to accept the steely core of resolution inside him, that dark part that made him capable of killing when necessary. Understanding that sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few; he’s always been willing to do whatever needs to be done to keep the Republic safe. From what he knows about Huxley, the man is the same.  Which is what prompted Theron to ask him for help in the first place. They were both men who Got Things Done, and right now he needs more of that energy on his side. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>galaxy</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A pair of rogue intelligence agents, cut off from their organizations, their governments. Working together to do the right thing. The Revanite threat isn’t just a Republic problem, it isn’t just an Imperial problem; it has the potential to destroy </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lord Arkous and Colonel Darok are only two of the many cogs working together in the fanatical cult’s plot, so surely he and Shrike can set aside their differences long enough to work a miracle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shrike lifts his head and breaks Theron out of his preoccupied thoughts. Their eyes meet briefly and Shrike nods firmly. “I believe I have supplementary data that would benefit your extrapolations thus far.” He twists his head and murmurs into a commlink hidden under the collar of his jacket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Theron barely keeps the surprise off his face when a figure detaches itself from the end of the bar to cross the room towards them. He hadn’t noticed anyone enter with Shrike and was surprised he had overlooked the pretty young brunette during his earlier survey of the room; she must have blended into the surroundings completely. She offers him a polite smile as she takes a seat next to Shrike and Theron feels a brush of the Force against his senses. Although he doesn’t have any significant abilities of his own, he has enough ability to at least recognize Force users. Like recognizing like.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shan, this is my associate, Temple. Temple, this is Shan.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Temple inclines her head slightly in greeting, but doesn’t offer a handshake. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” She speaks in that same Academy accent as her employer, although hers has a slight rural influence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pad?” Shrike holds out his hand for the slim datapad she pulls from her pocket. He thumbs it on and mirrors Theron’s earlier gesture of sliding it across the table. “This is what we’ve been working on since Maanan.”</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theron nods his thanks and scans it quickly, dumping the data into his implant to filter for salient points faster than the average humanoid mind can comprehend text. His eyebrows lift in surprise at the level of detail and the overlap in their patterns of thought. If they can keep things civil, they’ll work well together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, yes. This is very helpful.” He takes a chance and offers a faint smile at the man sitting across from him. “We found enough similar data points that we can start running a number of new leads right away. I think we’re onto something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A ghost of a smile crosses Shrike’s thin lips. “Indeed we are, Agent Shan. Indeed we are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
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